


He Bites Back

by dramapunk



Category: Daredevil (TV), MCU, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, James Wesley - Freeform, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, Vladimir Ranskahov - Freeform, Wilson Fisk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4194720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramapunk/pseuds/dramapunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vladimir makes the mistake of assaulting Wesley, thinking it would get into Fisk's head, and that there wouldn't be any consequences.   </p><p>More to come on this! <br/> </p><p>From this prompt on the <a href="http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=2924238#cmt2924238"> Daredevil Kink Meme </a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wesley should have known, he normally sees these problems from a mile away, but with all that's been going on with the masked man, he's been a little distracted.

Drugging his wine, how un-creative and how Russian, the idiot Vladimir isn't even trying to kill him. But still he really should have been more careful around the Russians.  

He grunts as he dumped on to the dirty mattress, face scrunching up wondering when the last time the bedding was changed.

It seems the man is just trying to hurt his pride.

Make it so he won't want to show his face around their employer again. He didn't know the fresh hell that was going to rain down upon him when this was over, when James had use of his legs again.

He hears more then feels the ripping away of his clothes, there was another thing they were going to pay for this was his favorite suit. They thought they were doing something that hasn't been done to him before.

Some people might cry, or fight, be he learned a long time ago that only gives them what they want. That puts the power in their court, that is something he can't have.

Through the foggy haze of drugs he can feel Vladimir's hands moving over his body. He can feel the dirt and grim sliding from the hands to his body. He finds it a little hard to breath and figures what ever was slipped into his drink is having an affect on his respiratory system.

He turns his head to the side trying to take in a slow and deep breath but the room reeks of booze and cigarettes.

"Ah you've come too... at least a little." Vlad says accent thick it sounds like he's been drinking heavily. "Not so high and mighty now are you." He spits.

"I believe I am quite high, actually and it's your doing." Wesley slurs, Vlad grabs Wesley by the hair pulling him enough to slap him hard across the face, hard enough to split his lip.

Wesley smiles teeth bloodied before he spits into Vlad's face. "He'll kill you." Wesley laughs and he's fairly certain its the drugs.

"Over you I don't think so." Vlad says hand moving to push Wesley down to the mattress he spits into his free hand and rubs it across his cock.

Wesley knew the man was dumb but not this dumb, he knows what's coming, the longer you work with animals the more likely you are to get bit at some point.

But what so many of their associates seem to forget is that Wesley is very capable of biting back otherwise he wouldn't be his employers right hand, and then some.

He wont give the man the pleasure of him crying out, he bites his lip hard enough to break the skin, and it seems like Vlad is a sloppy fuck, he shouldn't be surprised the man is a mess in all other aspects of his life... sex wouldn't be any different.

But Wesley's cheek and silence only seem to anger the Russian slob even more, between the lack of prep and the beating he's taken he's fairly sure he'll need medical care when this over. All though it's nothing compared to the coffin in Vladimir's future.

The sounds coming from his attacker make his skin crawl, he can feel the man's filth sinking into every pore of his skin.

James knows it's whatever cocktail filling his system making him feel that way, making him feel as if time is slowing down and this is dragging on forever, he's fairly certain Vlad isn't even fully erect... there is a hard blow to his ribs, and he is sure at least one is broken, he probably shouldn't have said that last bit out loud.

When it finally ends, he gets another beating and a face full of spit, his glasses are broken somewhere on the floor, and that upsets him more then anything else for some reason. He can’t really put his finger on why. He feels dirty and grimey and wants to burn the world.

He has to wait until he has control of his limbs again before he picks up the shreds of his clothes, the moron forgot to take his phone and wallet away... sloppy sloppy.

James calls Fisk, it's a little harder to tell the man what happened then he expected, but all he has to do is think about what he'll get to watch his employer do when he lets him know.

What his employer will let James do... after the appropriate and slightly odd fussing Wilson is prone to do over the people he deems his.

Wilson doesn't take long to show up to the warehouse or wherever the hell James is, he thanks god for the GPS on his phone.

He's seen that look of quiet rage in his employers face before, when people who shouldn't speak of his mother, when someone embarrasses him... it's a look that runs the blood hot in James' body, though honestly, he's not feeling like running hot right now.

Wilson has brought him clothes and their private on call doctor, this is not a matter for the police, they'll handle this in house. James wouldn't have it any other way.

He's right about his ribs and apparently his tail bone, which is more painful then the ribs, he is patched up quickly and quietly Wilson's eyes never leaving him.

His employer even pulls Wesley's spare glasses from his coat pocket when it's all over and refuses to take the man back to his apartment, he'll stay at the penthouse for now.

James puts his glasses back on, and the world comes back into focus, and it settles some of the crawling feeling inside of him, all he can think about right now, is the shower at the penthouse and how much he wants to crawl inside of it for a few hours.

They silently climb into the back of a waiting car, their relationship has always been one of few words, when around others.

But Wilson looks over at James and his thumb moves across James' split lower lip, something feral glinting through his eyes.

"I'm the only one allowed to mark you." His voice rumbles in the back seat, he knows their driver Frances won't say a word of what goes on they can trust him with this.

James shrugs, "I didn't want him too..." Is all he can think to say, to make that much clear.

"I know that, this isn't your fault." Wilson breaths out, "Even I would never go though far." Wilson says.

Wesley's lips twitch slightly, as he leans back into the seat still feeling slightly clouded from the drugs in his system. "Well yes because you are never actually trying to hurt me." Wesley points out wincing slightly as they go over a speed bump.

"Never..." Wilson nods, “Frances…” Wilson snaps as Wesley winces, “Drive more carefully.” He goes on as his fingers traces more softly over the marks, then most would assume him capable of, as if he's trying to erase the marks with his touch alone.

"What would you like to do about this?" Wilson asks and James knows he's being given a gift here, one he will savor the taste of, it's at that moment he realized they aren't driving to the penthouse, they are headed to the docks.

Wesley can’t help how he flinches at the touch but he relaxes fairly quickly and is relieved Wilson doesn’t pull away. There is something about the man's touch that is soothing him, he'd rather not dwell to deeply on that right now, later after a shower or a long bath... both sound very good right now. 

"I want it to be slow." Wesley says licking his lips, the tang of copper still in his mouth, the stitches holding his lip closed feeling odd on his tongue.

"That's what I wanted to hear James, I have your tools in the trunk if you wish... but I can not make any promises for how long I can hold myself back."

"And that is what I wanted to hear Sir." He's no fool he knows he'll need more then Wilson giving him the Russian to cope with this, but he's never been one for normal coping methods.  He's know that since he was a young boy, and he found he had tastes that none of the other children had. 

His battered face twitches into a feral grin as they enter the warehouse and strung up by his wrists in the center of the room, a table being laid out with some of his favorite toys.  

  
  
  



	2. Biting Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesley tortures Vladimir for what's been done to him. 
> 
> In my brain meats Wesley is just as vicious as Fisk just in a different way. Also a lot tougher then he seems. 
> 
> I know this is quick recovery, but then one it's fiction, and two, I wanted powerful powerful Wesley. Because lets face it, dude probably has some hidden skills if he is Fisk's right hand.

Wesley looks over the table and the small roll of tools from the trunk is present as are a few other items.

“I believe your plan didn’t work out as intended Mr. Ranskahov.” Wesley says unrolling the bundle a lovely collection of antique blades, surgical and others. He’d always been fond of Jack the Ripper, a killer with class and style who never got caught.

“I still had my way with you…” The Russian spits,  Wesley walks over and spins the man a little head tilted to the side. He can feel Wilson’s eyes on him, and the few guards lurking in the shadows. He’s never done this in front of anyone before, but Wilson knows his past, some of his more eccentric tastes.

He spins Vladimir again, the man’s feet barely scraping the ground, “You might have had your way carnally, but it would have been smarter to just kill me.” He says letting out a slow breath. He moves back over to the table looking over the other tools laid out for him.  He wants to savor this like a fine wine, he’ll save his favorites for last, but he’ll have to think of the pain scale as well or it won’t last as long as he wants.

Unlike Vladimir he had stamina for this sort of thing.

“What can a little paper pusher and petukh shlyukha do? Going to have the boss man take care of it for you while you shake like the kiska you are?"

Wesley rolls his eyes, he picks up a cattle-prod laying on the table and ponders it for a moment, he’d have to start somewhere he supposed.

He sets the cattle-prod aside for the moment and picks up a set of EMT shears and cuts way Vladimir’s clothes until the man is down to his dirty briefs.

Just looking at him makes his skin crawl and thoughts of a shower flicker through his mind as he looks over the filthy man, who thought he could take from Wesley without repercussions.

Do it slowly he reminds himself, as he moves back over to the table, his body still aches and his mind still slightly clouded from the drugs, it’s been awhile since he’s had something like this to enjoy. Pitty what lead up to it, but with time his wounds would heal and he has to take some of what this man tried to steal from him back.

His fingers drum along the table and his eyes look up to meet Wilson’s for a moment, he can see the fire and rage burning behind his Employer… no he’s not that right now, his partners eyes.  

Something about the look Wilson is giving him steady’s him… he wants the Russian to know what he’s capable of, he wants Fisk to see him work.

Lord knows he’s watched Fisk kill enough people. He lets out a slow breath and his fingers run over the cattle-prod again considering it.  He picks it up and moves over to Vladimir again running it down the man’s tattooed chest.

“20 minutes.” He says flatly tilting his head a little as looks over the man. Giving him a slight shove with the cattle-prod, making him swing a little.

“What?” Vlad asks arching an eyebrow, the Russian licking his lips, he’d survived prison in Moscow he’s survive what ever Fisk’s pet could throw at him, Fisk needed him too much to let Wesley do too much to him.  “What does that mean?”

“20 minutes until you are begging me to stop and kill you.” He says pulling the cattle-prod back and pulling the trigger watching the sparks fly.

He presses is low on Vladimir's abdomen and pulls the trigger watching as the man cries out a string of filth in Russian and English. He holds it there counting to five in his head, when the smell of burning flesh hits his nose he pulls it back.

“Is that all you have?” The Russian asks, but Wesley is already starting to see cracks.

“No but it’s just the start….” Wesley voice already getting some of it's smugness back into it, already starting to feel more like himself.

He finds another point along Vlad’s ribs and and hits him with another jolt, he keeps his hold on the trigger and starts pulling it back and pressing it back against the Russian’s flesh. Without any set pattern to where he presses or how long he holds it to the man’s skin.

He stops when Vlad  finally wet’s himself and a smug look of satisfaction settles across his battered face.

Wesley sets the cattle-prod down and lets out a slow breath looking up at Wilson, who looks rather pleased from where he’s watching, though the looks he’s throwing Vlad say he won’t be able to control himself much longer.

James licks his lips and snaps on a pair of latex gloves and looks over his selection of blades and picks up a thin but wickedly sharp blade with an bone handle. He turns it over in his fingers. Before moving back to the man suspended in the center of the warehouse.

Vladimir’s breath is ragged and his eyes heavily lidded, Wesley just stands there watching him for a moment. “Ready to die?” He asks adjusting his glasses with the hand not holding the blade.  

Vlad musters up enough to spit, or try to spit in Wesley’s face, and Wesley can hear Fisk let out a low grumble behind him.  Wesley just shakes his head a little and runs gloved fingers over Vlad’s ribs as if looking for a certain point.

He presses the blade in between the same two ribs on each side watching the thin trickle of blood run out of the wounds. “You have somewhere between 5-20 minutes before you start drowning in your own blood, but given how you’re hanging it could be longer.” He says ignoring how the Russian cries out.

He walks over and cleans the blade before putting it back with it’s mates and rolling the set closed and snapping off the latex gloves  and moving over to sit next to Wilson, wincing in pain as he does. But his eyes don’t leave Vladimir the man already starting to gasp a little.

Wilson makes it until a trickle of blood starts to run out the side of Vladimir’s mouth, before he’s barking at the men to cut him down.

Wesley leans back in the seat, he wishes that Fisk would have just let the man drown in his own blood, but he knows his Employer… no not his employer right now, his friend and lover needs to let his rage over what’s happened out, he knows the man feels it’s his fault.  

He watches as Fisk beats Vladimir until the man is a sobbing choking mess, being for it to end. Fisk doesn’t give Vladimir the privilege of a quick death but it’s not long before it’s over, giving the state of the Russian’s injuries and Fisk’s rage.

Wesley pulls out his phone and sends a text to their clean up crew as Wilson comes back over to him cupping his face and pausing in a way his hasn’t before. He can feel the warm sticky smear of blood being left on his face by the touch.

“I would very much like to kiss you now Wesley.” Wilson half states half asks, he’s never asked before he’s always taken, but then with Fisk, Wesley has always been willing to give, and still is. But tonight he is a little grateful that Wilson has slowed down a little.

Wesley nods his consent and it’s just a brief brush of lips, with the backdrop sounds of the Russian’s body being packed up and the pressure washer kicking on. it’s more intimate than anything they’ve shared before, and it makes Wesley shudder a little.  

“What else do you need, Wesley.” The gruff voices says hands pulling back he pulls a handkerchief out and wipes the blood from James’ face and his own hands.

“I thought I was your assistant, sir.” He says joking a little, and while he feels much better, he feels more tired than he thinks he has in his life.

“Not until you are fully healed, Wesley…” He answers back briskly.

“A few days of pampering me hardly seems necessary.” He says as they start to move out to the waiting car.

“Consider it a bonus…” Fisk says pausing for a moment, “We can send his body back to the Russian’s telling them it was the man in black.”

Wesley’s lips curl into a small smile, “And we watch the city burn from the fallout.”

“And rebuild it after.” Wilson nods, “I am only sorry that I didn’t have enough security on you.” He says easily as they are driving toward the penthouse.

“You work with animals long enough you get bitten at some point, it seems however they forgot, I can and do bite back.” He muses a little.

Fisk shakes his head a little at James words, but they are true, but Wesley will have extra protection now, Wilson will see to it. "Now tell me what you want." 

"A bath, a glass of wine, and an extortionate amount of sleep." Wesley says honestly leaning back in the seat. 

 


	3. Cleaning up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson and James patch things back together, the actual h/c part of the fic. 
> 
> This isn't my best work but it was kind of fun to write.

The ride back to the penthouse is a quiet one, it’s an amicable silence, one that feels good sinking into Wesley’s bones after the events of the evening. Fisks fingers brushing Wesley’s on the soft leather of the backseat a soft reassuring counterpoint to the earlier physicality of the night.   

It was an attack on both of them he knows that, but he also knows know the Russian’s will be coming to their end sooner rather then later. That had always been Wilson’s overall game plan, it was just going to come together quicker now.

Wesley winces as he moves out of the car, the night finally starting to catch up to him, waves of tiredness starting to sink into his bones. The crawling feeling on his skin growing worse, once in the elevator there is a steadying arm going around his shoulders and pulling him close.

The smell and feel of Wilson’s body washing over his senses and he wants to be in control right now, but at the same time he doesn’t. He loves letting Wilson take command, the man is a possessive and at times jealous lover, but then again, so is Wesley…

Once in the penthouse Wilson moves them to the bedroom, and leaves to start running a bath in suite.

“Sir you don’t have…” His words are cut off by a look and a finger pressed to his split lip.

“I want and need too, James.” He says voice low and rough. 

“Wilson I am fine, or will be.” He says hand taking his employer’s hand and lacing their fingers together.

“I know you are stronger, the most of our associates assume, more wicked as well… but you are mine, and I take care of what is mine.” He says slowly starting to undress James.  James stiffens slightly as Wilson starts to undress him, causing the larger man to pause for a moment until James nods for him to continue.

Large fingers trace over the bruises on Wesley’s hips, wrists, and shoulders, like he is trying to banish them from the other man’s body. Wilson felt another quake of rage run through him, only he was allowed to mark this body, and he had never actually hurt Wesley.

He presses a kiss over the bite mark on Wesley’s shoulder and, leads James to the bathroom, we after some more protest from James he helps the man into the tub.

Wesley sinks into the hot water dunks his head under for a moment and he can feel the grim from that Russian slob melting away and he already feels more human than he had a few minutes ago. His tail bone and ribs ache but the hot water is helping, for a moment his mind flashes back to those tattooed hands on his body and he wants kill the an all over again.

But Wilson is there offering him a glass of wine and the antibiotics and other mix he’s supposed to take, not the pain pills though, the man knows him to well, he is grateful for that.

Wesley is not one for taking drugs and take drinking, but considering the night, and it’s not like these are party pills. He takes the pills the tosses them back into his mouth and takes the glass of wine from Wilson and takes a slow slip from the glass before setting it on the side of the tub.

He can’t help the hum that escapes him as he suddenly feels the fingers working shampoo through his hair, some combination of mint and eucalyptus that fills the steaming bathroom with a relaxing mind numbing scent.

He lets out a slow breath and sinks a little lower in the water taking another sip of wine, Wilson has done this before, the man tends to fuss, more than anyone has ever fussed over Wesley in his life. Normally it after one of their more raucous romps… he knows it calms the man in some way takes the edge of guilt and anger away over what happened.

Wilson takes his time cleaning the marks, and Wesley knows as soon as he’s healed and up for it, Wilson will take him, make him, as his, as he is prone to do. It took Wesley some getting used to, but now there were moments he enjoyed it, it was just an odd counterpoint to the violence within Wilson.  It was a side of the man Wesley himself was selfish about, no one needed to see this side of his employer it was his.

He dips himself under the water again feeling the shampoo leave his hair Wilson’s fingers brushing his scalp as he comes back up for a breath. At some point he loses time, and he’s not sure if it’s, the wine, the meds, or the drugs in his system from earlier, or some combination of all these things stack together.

But the next thing he knows is he is being carefully dried and offered a set of pajamas, a few sizes too big as they are Wilson’s it seems the man is finding other ways to mark him tonight, Wilson’s shampoo, his soap, his clothes, he can’t complain… it’s an odd comfort, his skin feels like a combination of his and Wilson’s again, he still hurts but it’s dulled around the edges.  

He goes through his before bed hygiene routine, brushing, flossing, mouth was,  all with Wilson hovering near him, like something might happen if he leaves James alone again. He lets out a slow breath, they would have to talk about it, he would have to talk about it, they couldn’t let this fester, there was probably some high priced shrink they could put on the payroll… but those are worries and discussions for tomorrow because sleep seems like the best idea right now.

Under the blankets with the lights off Fisk curling around him doesn’t feel like a trap it feels like protection, he leans back into the man and he’s grateful for the solidness of the man behind him.  Grateful Wilson gave him several gifts tonight, he’ll have to find away to thank the man soon.  

It’s not long before he’s drifting off, mind clouded from wine, medication, and stress, but he sleeps deep and sound, because the animals he works with no he bites back, they know now he’s an animal himself, he’s just at the top of the food chain.  

They won’t forget that now.

 

 


End file.
